tylerintheclouds

in which we strive

observing human life

and the quantities in which we strive to

beating ourselves with diamond addiction

presidents cry and we sell their tears

behind alleyways and boulevards

brief encounters we ponder on flicker the lights and we fail to replace the bulb

tred lightly on the balcony of desires

dream room is metres away

exist in the keyhole of cravings

waiting in the mustang for my fantasy to return

tune the radio of souls three degrees west from the sky

breaking through the white noise of identity

pondering on the qualities of the jumpcuts